Married men want one thing

“I think one of the guys at work is flirting with me,” I said leaning out of my office door in the general direction of my friend Z.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we were talking about a media enquiry and now I think he’s flirting with me. What do I do?”

“Um, nothing.”

That’s Z, God love her. Happily married for 20 plus years. Flirting with a stranger, perhaps even acting on that flirting, was a foreign concept.

“I don’t even know this guy. I’m not even sure he’s met me in real life.”

“That’s why you don’t need to do anything.”

“But … it’s just … weird. I don’t even know him.”

Secretly, I was flattered and delighted. Only a few days earlier I had told my husband of five years that I wanted a divorce. Not so I could fuck around with other guys, necessarily. But to someone like me who looks for signs from the universe, this was a brass band inside my head playing When The Saints Go Marching In.

“What has he said that makes you think he’s flirting?”

“He asked for my number.”

“Hmm, yep, OK. But you’re not going to give it to him?”

“No! I mean … maybe. It’s just texting. He wants to text me things we can’t say in a work email.”

“What have you been talking about in work emails that you shouldn’t be?”

“Nothing. I had a media enquiry. He was helping me answer it. Then I told him I was dealing with a new crisis so the other issue wasn’t so important and he asked what it was. I told him it was a pain in the arse and he said he liked my style. It just went from there.”

“And now he wants your number?”

“Yes, apparently.”

“Hmmm,” and with a mothering frown, Z dismissed me and went back to her work. I shut down my computer and walked home.

He was still emailing me. He asked for my number again, then he gave me his.

I sent him a text.

***

“The one with muscles, you know? I don’t think he’s been here that long.”

“Has he got short hair? Really buff?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“And you fucked him? Last night?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“I’m not really sure. Did I mention he’s also a fireman?”

“Twice.”

J was my soul friend. She got me. She was generous and kind and compassionate and so, so funny. Every time I did something like this, she just laughed.

“I don’t know where you get your energy,” she would tell me.

I tried to explain how it had escalated so quickly. But what it came down to was: I enjoyed sex. I enjoyed surprise sex even better. And lately, my world had been full of surprises.

“So, he just came over to your place and you had sex and then he left?”

“Yes, so to speak. He didn’t actually fuck me. I gave him a blow job and he fingered me until I came.”

“Oh my god! You never fail to impress me!”

“I licked his abs.”

“What? Why?”

“When a man with abs like that is standing naked in your bedroom, you lick them. It’s only right. It would be rude not to.”

I had indeed licked them. He was incredibly muscular. In that moment, I couldn’t concentrate on anything but those six pockets of taut muscle above a hard, well-sized cock.

Then he’d asked if I liked to suck cock. Clue number 1.

“Mmm, I love to suck cock.”

“Show me bitch.”

He grabbed my head, yanked me down to his crotch and jammed it in my mouth. He was forceful, more so than most anyone I had ever been with.

It took all my skills not to gag, to relax and suck. I do love sucking cock, but this was like an extreme sport I hadn’t trained for. He sat down on my bed and held my face down over his crotch. He curled his fingers into my hair, yanking and pulling it to get a better grip.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you bitch? You like my cock in your mouth.”

I don’t mind dirty talk in most situations, but combined with his aggressiveness and hair pulling, I did start to wonder what I had got myself into. I didn’t know this guy. Hadn’t ever really spoken to him prior to that afternoon.

“Oh yeah, suck it. Suck it harder! Take it down deep in your throat! Yeah, suck me you little fucker!”

The guy certainly had a mouth on him. He held me tightly by the hair, another hand around my neck.

“I want to fuck your arse,” he said, pushing me back and down onto my bed. Clue number 2.

Whoa! Yep, that’s not going to happen.

He plunged his fingers inside me.

“Holy fuck!” I yelled out in shock. He took the same approach to fingering as he did to blow jobs – hard, furious, fast.

He was pushing his cock against my arse and there’s no way I was letting it in. This guy would tear me to pieces. I twisted my body away until I was stomach down on my bed. His fingers never let up, thrusting in and out of me in like he was stuffing a turkey.

I will admit that at this point, feeling a little used and abused, I nearly called out to my housemate. For a very brief moment, I felt scared that he was going to hurt me.

Fortunately, he withdrew his fingers and demanded I suck his cock again, which I did. Anything to get his hands out of me.

I sealed my lips around his shaft and sucked like my life depended on it. I wanted him to come and leave. I wasn’t even interested in coming myself. I pulled his cock, twisting my hand around his shaft while holding the head firm in my mouth.

In a couple of minutes, he told me he was going to come.

I let him shoot his load down the back of my throat and then dribbled it back out of my mouth. I may let that crap in my mouth but I rarely swallow it on purpose. Cum, in general, tastes gross. Actually, it’s how warm it is that I find gross. I also don’t like water getting in my mouth in the shower for the same reason. Warm water is weird.

“That was fun,” he said. “If I didn’t have to be at training half an hour ago, I would be fucking that arse so hard.” Clue number 3.

Finally, he left.

It was about a week later that I found out that while he may have indeed had training with the fire brigade that night, it’s far more likely he needed to be home – with his wife and kids. He hadn’t mentioned it, and I hadn’t asked but in hindsight it was obvious that a guy whose first demands are for blowjobs and anal, likely has a wife. So much for my first foray into the world as a single woman again.